


Our Own Personal Hell

by helianskies



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Arthur is a big meanie, Execution, Gil and Toni are literal angels, I Don't Even Know, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Idiots in Love, M/M, Magic, Moral Ambiguity, Rescue, Running Away, Sorry Not Sorry, Until they aren't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27649303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helianskies/pseuds/helianskies
Summary: Gilbert is an angel about to be killed for a crime that he most definitely and undoubtedly committed. Resigned to his fate, he stands before the Archangels and Heaven, ready to accept his punishment—death.However, there's someone who simply refuses to let him go.This was not exactly how Gilbert expected his time in Heaven to end.
Relationships: Prussia/Spain (Hetalia)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Our Own Personal Hell

This day was a long time coming. He knew it, they knew it, everyone knew it. He was almost surprised it had taken them so long to actually get it done—normally this was the sort of thing they did on the spot, in the moment, no second thoughts—but then, at the same time, it was no surprise at all they were making a show out of it.

They'd wanted Gilbert out of there for a while. Now he had given them an excuse, and they were absolutely going to milk it. After all—you could only kill an angel once. Might as well make it as memorable as possible.

It was Arthur who stared at him now. His grand speech was more or less over. In all honesty, he had zoned out as soon as the archangel had started talking; he never had been able to stand his voice, and it most certainly was not the last thing he wanted to hear before he was basically disintegrated, smote in the very spot he stood, for a crime he…

Well, he _had_ committed it. That was for sure. Heaven's justice system couldn't care less about the how or the why—simply that he did it. That was why he stood there now, arms and wings bound, wrapped by pale rope like a present for all of the other angels to see.

So no, he didn't listen to Arthur, whether he had been given the title of 'Michael' or not. Gilbert blocked out hid voice and instead replaced it with the sounds that made him happy: _birds tweeting in the garden, the sound of food gently frying in a pan, the faint, rich laughter of someone he deeply cared about, that same person calling his name_ — _Or am I actually hearing that…?_

His blessed thoughts were interrupted as Arthur's voice became louder yet colder. Gilbert refocused himself on the present, only to find that the archangel was standing significantly closer to him, his left hand resting on the hilt of his famed sword. It was almost intimidating. _Almost_. But Gilbert had a strong resolve and had made a promise to never bow or yield to such a being, so he simply held his ground, still, silent, waiting.

Arthur, it seemed, repeated what he had said, having ascertained that Gilbert had not been listening to him; "Have you anything you wish to say to the Courts, or to the heavenly hosts before you that you have turned your back on so readily, and shamefully?"

He could have said something. He could have pulled a witty comment out of his vast collection of things he'd always wanted to say to Arthur's face—to Heaven's face. He could have had the last laugh and gone out with a real banger.

But he didn't. He held his tongue. Because Gilbert refused to give Arthur any sort of satisfaction, or a boost to his pathetic, narcissistic ego. He was not going to speak and make it easier. He was not going to speak and apologise for what he did not believe was a crime. He was not going to speak and go out like every other angel who had stood where he stood and been turned into ash, blown away by the impossible winds of death. There was simply no way.

Clearly disgruntled by the other's silence, Arthur's jaw clenched and unclenched—Gilbert could see the tension and pure _rage_ in his muscles—and unsheathed his sword. "In that case," he said, "in the name of our Father, you are condemned to death—a fitting punishment for the angel who dares think taking another's life is just and fair."

Gilbert silently beckoned him to get on with it. Cheers and shouts seemed to come from the crowd as the blade was raised high. Arthur stood now right in front of him, sword in the air, ready to bring it down on Gilbert's head so that he would finally be eradicated.

The pale angel closed his eyes (those deep red eyes that everyone had been so frightened of his entire miserable life), resigned to this fate. Deep down, he understood. Heaven was flawed, the archangels were too scared of those who were different— _etcetera, etcetera_. He merely closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. In the background, the crowd continued in its cries of encouragement and support for their corrupt system. He was sure Arthur even said a very short prayer for him ( _bless_ ).

However, just as he sensed the archangel suck in a breath and bring the blade down with a great force, no pain followed to movement. 

There was no sharp ache, no burning, no turning to ash like all those before him.

Instead, Gilbert heard the sudden clashing and scraping of metal on metal. His eyes burst open and he took a breath he hadn't realised his body had been gasping for, and—

It was no longer Arthur standing in front of him. Now he was met by the back of a different angel, his own sword raised high and blocking Arthur's from meeting its target. It took only two seconds for Gilbert to identify the soft, dark curls, the warmer skin, the plain and simple fact that _someone_ refused to let him die.

 _Oh, Antonio_ , he thought to himself, _you really are a fool…_

"Step down, Antonio," Arthur practically growled, still exerting as much force as he could downwards against the subordinate angel's blade, "otherwise we might just end up having _two_ executions today rather than one."

Antonio didn't even flinch. "So be it," he spat back, matching the other's passion. "At least I'd do it protecting someone who was innocent."

"He _confessed_."

"And he had no chance to _explain_."

"Murder is murder," the archangel stated. He gave a sudden push that almost toppled Antonio, but the brunette quickly fixed his stance and stopped himself from tumbling. Gilbert wished so desperately he could help, but his hands were quite literally tied… "A life was taken, so a life is paid. You can either join him in his fate, or back down and enjoy your own life while you can."

"Your morals are twisted, you're all corrupted and false," Antonio responded. Then his tone dropped low and his voice itself seemed to breathe pure cold into the air as he said: "I would rather die trying to save _him_ than live amongst you like another one of your blind little sheep."

Gilbert would have called the gesture romantic had he not thought it to also be utterly stupid. _He's going to get himself killed trying to protect me._ There was no way he would stand by and let it happen!

Yet, it seemed the day was not done giving him such big surprises.

Because just as Gilbert expected Arthur to unleash his power and easily win the oncoming fight between them both, Antonio beat the archangel to it. A flash of dark light—darker than anything Gilbert had seen the brunette produce before—erupted into the vast amphitheatre, eliciting cries of horror from the spectators and also blinding Arthur enough to send the archangel stumbling back, hands over his eyes and he seethed in pain. Whatever Antonio had done, it was enough to buy them a few seconds.

The angel turned to Gilbert, who was sure his face displayed only pure bewilderment, and he mustered up a quick smile. Just a quick one. And then he flicked his wrist and an opening seemed to appear in the air—a portal of sorts, not too dissimilar from those the guardians used to travel to earth—which he began to urge Gilbert to go through.

"No," he protested at first, "I'm not leaving you."

"Tough," was the stern response. "Go now, and don't look back. I'll be with you soon, but just go!"

To the other side of Antonio, Arthur had already started to recover. His hands tore away from his face and his wrath had only grown, a snarl on his lips and his sword readying for battle. Gilbert was barely given time to react. Antonio gave him a not-too-gentle push towards the portal before his attention went back onto the fearsome archangel just in time to block another attack. Metal clashed on metal, over and over, and Gilbert was fearful.

Antonio would not be able to cope alone, would he? And what was that thing he had done, that burst of darkness? And since when could he…? 

These were questions he could not ask. Antonio yelled at him again to get out of there while he could, simultaneously dodging a low swing of Arthur's sword. 

Gilbert had little choice. He was of no use with his wings and arms bound like they were. _Antonio can manage this_ , he tried to convince himself as he looked upon the portal and the darkness that stared back at him. _Antonio can clearly handle himself._ With a deep breath, he took the few remaining steps towards the opening and passed the threshold, eyes squeezed shut, trepidation filling his bones. He didn't know why he had just done that. Blind trust? Friendship? Idiocy? All three?

It took a few seconds for him to find the courage to pry open an eye and see his new, mysterious surroundings.

Immediately it was clear to him that this was not Heaven, nor was it Earth. The general climate was much warmer, and he seemed to be standing in a vast building that was similar enough to the Grand Palace in Heaven, but just… not so white. It was like someone had stripped it down to the bare bones, leaving a dull grey foundation. 

It was quiet. _Silent_. Not a soul in sight, nor a living thing of any kind.

Gilbert turned around. The portal had gone. His heart sunk and fluttered and raced all at once. Where was Antonio? Had he not come through? Had he been stopped? Delayed? _Killed?_ The dreadful thoughts were swallowed down as the angel tried to hold into what remained of his dignity; he would not break down nor cry. Not yet. He had to be sure. He had to go back, he had to find Antonio, get the fool out of there before he—

Something caught his eye.

He hadn't noticed it at first, perhaps his mind had been rather busy trying to work out where he was, how, and why, but now he stared at it blatantly. In the middle of the large room he had found himself in was also a table or a desk. It was the only other thing in the room beside himself and the chandelier over his head. _What gives…?_

This had to be Antonio's doing as well, right? Everything _else_ clearly was. 

Feeling a sort of tug towards it (whether from his own curiosity or external forces, he couldn't entirely be sure), Gilbert walked to the table and found himself looking at a note. Only a note. And to make it even better, the note was folded in half, only his name visible, which sparked an irritation in him.

 _My hands are still fucking tied_ , he cursed, finding himself trying futily to undo the rope that trapped his arms and wings in place. The rope was thick, it was rough—he could feel the fibres scratching at his skin as he tried to free himself, and that… that almost set him off. Gilbert felt an overwhelming sense of loss. He didn't know where he was, the only person who _could_ tell him where he was was back in Heaven possibly facing their own execution, and he was stuck unable to do anything because this damned rope was still holding him prisoner and he _just wanted it gone!_

He gasped for breath, eyes clamped shut and hands clenched into fists. He tried to get a hold of himself, he tried to calm down and not let the surge of panic overtake him. _I just want the ropes gone_ , he repeated to himself, _and I want Antonio, and I want Heaven to leave us alone_. Was it too much to ask…?

There was a sudden lightness. Like he was longer being weighed down.

Confused only more and more, Gilbert bit back a wet sniffle as a stray tear rolled down his cheek. He wiped it away with his hand. _At least no one's here to see this_. At least he no longer had spectators ogling at him, entertaining themselves with his— 

Wait.

He had just wiped his cheek.

Gilbert’s eyes flew open and he stared at his arms— _free_. The rope had gone. His arms were free, free to move, free to assist him, free to go and punch some stuck up, snobby archangels in the mouth— _Wait_. His wings, too. He spread them out, feathers of white and grey shaking and ruffling as the faintest of breezes tickled at them. The rope had gone. The rope had gone, and he didn't understand how.

His gaze fell back down on the table to his left and the note that sat upon it. Antonio's handwriting was easy to recognise; he had written Gilbert’s name the same way he always had, in proud cursive with the tail of the 'G' trailing off into a small heart. It never failed to amuse the angel, and it elicited a small chuckle as he wiped his cheek again, just to make sure that it was properly dry. _Oh, Toni…_

He took the letter in his ( _free_ ) hands ( _finally!_ ) and flipped it open. Quite a fair bit had been written, and he could see where some of the ink had been smudged at certain intervals (whether because Antonio was cursed to be left-handed and smudge _anything_ he ever wrote, or for other reasons, Gilbert had yet to establish). Most importantly, however, it seemed to have been written in haste. The scrawl was messier than the precise and perfect way his name had been written.

There was only one way to find out why. Gilbert began to read:

> _Gil,_
> 
> _If you're reading this, then I know you are safe. Where you are is a place I created ready for the day I would need to escape Heaven, but it seems that day has arrived for you as well. I'm glad you made it._
> 
> _I also assume that if you're reading this, I am not with you. I'm sorry for that. But I was never going to let them take you away_ — _you mean far too much to me. I couldn’t bear to live without knowing you were alive. That's why you are here._
> 
> _This place has no name yet, but it has a purpose to serve you in whatever you need. You need simply ask for it to provide you with something or help you in some way, and the world around you will either create or destroy. Do bear in mind it has its limits, though. The world itself is living. I trust you to take care of it. Nurture it. Like those silly little plants you grow on your window sills._
> 
> _I have to go. The execution starts in ten minutes and I have to be there to make sure it never happens._
> 
> _Just know I love you, whatever happens next. I will always love you._
> 
> _Antonio_

He ran it through his brain once more, just to be sure he had processed all of that information.

So, Antonio had created this place—this living place. That was why the ropes had vanished. He had willed them away, and the mysterious, magic realm around him had done his bidding. And now, he was there, while Antonio was doing who knew what. _Whatever happens next, I will always love you._ Gilbert was going to have to have some serious words with Antonio. He didn't appreciate the tone. He didn't appreciate how he made it sound that Gilbert would… be alone.

He didn't want to be alone. 

He might as well have let Arthur kill him.

_What if that's what's happening right now, back in Heaven? They couldn't get you, so what if they…?_

No. No, no, no. That was not okay. He wasn't going to let that happen, not to Antonio—if anyone was going to kill that idiot, then it would be Gilbert, for putting himself in harm's way to save him.

 _Think_. What was it Antonio had said? He could help. He could save him, too, right? He could— He could magic up a sword! Something to fight the angels with! Okay, yes, that was good. That was good. Gilbert slapped himself on the hand to try and get himself focused, and he thought very carefully about what he needed, a silent prayer that Antonio's creation would truly provide him with all he needed.

“A weapon,” he began with, “so that I can defend myself and rescue that id— _Antonio_. So I can stop any angel who tries to stop me. So I can save us both.”

It materialised on the table right before him, a sword of steel and gold, which he immediately took in his grasp. _Well-balanced_ , he mused. But he was far from done. With the sword in hand, he turned away from the table and stared at the air that filled the vast room he stood in.

“Now I need a portal back to Heaven—a portal, like the one Antonio created.” (And in Heaven, somehow).

It appeared in a burst and crackle of that same dark light from before. Only, now the portal itself showed only bright white rather than the pitch darkness that it had last time. Perhaps because it was aiming towards Heaven? _Beside the point_. He didn’t need to focus on that. He needed… He needed… Well, _help_ , he needed help. If he went back to Heaven alone, who was to say what he would be faced with? Or whether or not he would be able to fend of anyone—Arthur, the archangels, _all of the angels in attendance_ —on his own?

Gilbert believed strongly in his own ability with a sword, but not _that_ much.

Okay, so, plan. If this world could create, then… Maybe… If he asked _really nicely_ , then it could… _Make me an army._ Nothing too big or glamourous. Just… "Creatures to fight for us, creatures that will only stop when we are back here, safe. An army that will fight the other angels and protect us,” he said.

Nothing.

Was that a tall order? Antonio had warned him that the place had its limits. Maybe creating living things was where it drew the line? He couldn’t exactly say. The sword had appeared quickly, as had the portal. Yet, as he looked around, no army appeared. No creatures ready to fight, no army that would accompany him.

“Guess it’s just me, then,” he mumbled to himself.

He set his eyes back on the portal and took a deep breath. He had to at least try. He had to try to help, to get Antonio out of there. He would never forgive himself if he stayed there and did nothing. If he let them win. His grasp tightened on the hilt of his sword and he took three seconds to psych himself up before he hurried towards the portal. _You can do this,_ he assured himself, imbuing a false sense of confidence in his soul, _you can do this_.

A rumble shook the world. He stopped, the portal wobbled and distorted before returning to its original shape, and Gilbert looked over his shoulder. And then, he jumped.

Creatures. Actual, living creatures. Some on two legs, some of four; some with wings, some with claws, others with horns, but all armed in some way or another. _An army_. White, black, red, grey—a multi-coloured army of creatures ready to fight. Incredible. A grin broke out on his face, a burst of hope exploding through his core. An army. Heaven would be in for a treat.

The portal grew in size to accommodate the newly-formed legion of creatures (he would have to think of some better-suited and much cooler name for them another time) and, well… What were they waiting for?

A single word saw the army racing and raging through that portal into Heaven. Gilbert watched as they began to disappear through the threshold, and then, with those four words reserved for himself ( _you can do this_ ) he ran with them. He charged with his legion and crossed back into the realm he had once called home, and he was greeted by…

 _Carnage_ , mostly. It seemed the creatures had gone straight into attack mode. Many angels seemed to have fled the sudden danger, leaving the archangels to defend them from the oncoming beasts. _Perfect_. That meant Gilbert would have less to deal with. The archangels were too occupied with the unknown threat that had exploded from an inexplicable portal. That meant focus could turn back to the one thing that had brought him back without second thought: Antonio.

He couldn’t see him—not right away. But somewhere amongst the chaos that had erupted in the amphitheatre, he caught a flash of swords colliding, blonde hair, large white wings, and then the very brunette he was there for. It was from a distance, but even then, Gilbert could see his fatigue, his pain, the fact that he had not been able to block the sword each time Arthur had swung at him. 

His blood began to boil.

He wasted no more time.

Gilbert held his sword tight and high and ran through the army he had summoned. He could see in his peripheral other angels, the stragglers trying to fight. They quickly left the forefront of his mind. Ahead of him, he caught sight of the duelling pair. A beast got in his way for a moment, halting his progress, but he could see over them, just as they got back on their feet and charged back into battle, that… 

Arthur knocked Antonio down. And Antonio didn’t get back up.

 _No. No, this is not how this is going to end_. Gilbert _refused_. He watched the archangel raise his sword once more, just as he had done to Gilbert, and he saw Antonio stuck beneath that intimidating sight, frozen. 

Last time, Antonio had saved Gilbert.

This time, Gilbert saved Antonio.

Swords clashed against each other once more. Gilbert mustered up a sudden and fantastical strength that pushed Arthur back a few steps. The blonde stumbled and hurried to gather himself. A scowl settled back firmly on his face and he met Gilbert’s own sharp gaze. 

“What is it with the pair of you?” he snarled. His white wings spread out more and his feathers were all ruffled as he took a threatening stance. Gilbert, however, was not scared. “Are you both that reluctant to answer to your crimes?”

“I’m the only one who committed a crime,” Gilbert replied, “and I’d do it again.”

“Which is precisely why we need to be _rid_ of you!”

“I did it for—”

" _You_ _killed someone_. You don’t deserve to live! We want you gone—and for good!”

“And I _can_ be gone for good, but this is not the way. We can—”

Gilbert wasn’t given a chance to explain. Not because Arthur stopped him, or swung at him, or because someone else had attacked the subordinate angel in any way.

He wasn’t given a chance to explain because it wasn't _Arthur_ who was attacked. Darkness spread and burst and flung the archangel back, throwing him like a ragdoll through the air. Gilbert was lost for words. A hand grabbed his and he turned his head to see that Antonio was back on his feet, at his side, and trying to get him to move. He was saying something. The words did not process straight away. Fingers snapped in front of his face, Gilbert blinked, and the world seemed to fall back in sync.

“..eed to go, there’s no point us staying and trying to reason,” Antonio said to him. “We leave, and we leave now. Come on.”

The other had already started power-walking. Gilbert watched Antonio for a moment—watched the slight limp, the way his feathers had been displaced, and how even some of his primaries had been sliced. He looked a mess. But Gilbert hurried after him, because Arthur was already getting back up, and Antonio was right—reasoning was futile. Pointless. 

As he came to Antonio’s side, a hand took his in its hold and Gilbert squeezed gently. A reassurance. Around them, the battle was ongoing. Beasts screamed and roared and cried, while angels cried and roared and screamed. It seemed that some of the subordinates had returned with weapons to engage in the mini-war. As they hurried towards the portal, Antonio pulled Gilbert out of the way of one of his creatures, now limp. Gilbert thanked him. Antonio smiled. 

“I see you made yourself some warriors,” the brunette remarked as they continued. It wasn’t far. A hundred metres at most. _A short sprint, and we’ll be safe._ “Nicely done.”

Gilbert scoffed. “Says the guy who made an entire world. Mind explaining?”

“Uhh… Not just yet, no.”

“I read your note.”

“I _hope_ so—it would have made summoning an army much easier.”

“You were going to die for me.”

“Worst case scenario, yes. Can we— can we discuss this in five minutes? When we’re safe?” Antonio requested. They both had to avoid another beast, another swinging weapon that narrowly missed their heads. Gilbert pulled Antonio along quicker, and they stood in front of the portal, looking back at the battle in their wake. “Time for a tactical retreat, I think,” the brunette concluded.

Gilbert frowned at the notion. “A retreat? Why?”

“Because I don’t want to leave any creatures from the other world here for the archangels to study.”

“But—”

“Kiku and Alfred would love to get their hands on them, and I’d rather they _didn’t_ find out how any of this was possible. Otherwise they really will be after my head.”

Gilbert sighed. “Okay, that’s a fair point, I guess. I’ll just, uh…” He turned back to the small battlefield. In the distance, he glimpsed Arthur fighting off some of the foreign beasts, a fire burning in his eyes. Gilbert called out to the army: “Fall back! Gather all of the fallen and return home!”

What he had expected was for the creatures to somehow fend off the angels, grab any creature whose body had been left on the cold marble floor of the amphitheatre, and charge on back towards the portal. Instead, the beasts did the first two things, but rather than running towards their commander, their own portals appeared. And then they vanished into said portals. _Huh, strange._ But perhaps more ideal than the pair of them being in the path of a stampede.

He was about to say something on the matter—just some curious remark—but Antonio grabbed his arm and pulled Gilbert through their own portal, leaving Heaven and its furious angels behind. Their _lives_ behind.

They reappeared in the vast grey room that Gilbert had been in earlier. He caught his breath, bent over with his hands on his knees as everything that had happened sunk in. _We can no longer go back. Heaven will never let us back. My home, my plants, my family…_

To his side, Antonio had his hands out, facing the portal. He forced it shut. And then, even when it was gone, he closed his eyes and seemed to still be focusing on something. Gilbert would have asked what he was doing had he not been simultaneously thinking about the family that he would not be able to see ever again. _Was this… a mistake?_

No. No, this wasn’t a mistake. It wasn’t. This was… _freedom_. True freedom. He held on tight to that thought.

“There,” the other said after a moment, hands falling back to his sides. A chair appeared and Antonio sank down onto it without needing to check if it was in the right place, in the right position. He sat down, breathed, and his head fell into his hands. “They can’t open a gateway from their side, now. They won’t be coming after us any time soon.”

Gilbert quirked a brow. “Gateway…?”

Antonio lifted his head. His exhaustion was even more clear up close. He looked… “Those portal things we used. They’re called gateways—or at least, that’s what _I_ call them. I don’t know if there’s an official name. Heavens calls them doors, but gateway sounds so much better. Don’t you think?”

“I mean, _sure_ , but... “ He stopped and reset. “Are you going to tell me what all this is? Half an hour ago, I was a dead man walking,” Gilbert stated, all of the emotions that had come and gone in the past thirty minutes finally molding together and convulsing inside of him. “Now both of us are trapped out of Heaven, in a world that _you created_ , God knows how, and I am so very, _very_ confused. And kinda scared, in all honesty.”

“It’s… complicated. I can explain properly in time,” Antonio replied, his voice soft and a little rough, “but for now, just know that I found some texts that I don’t think I was supposed to read while working in the archives. And they taught me a lot of things—including certain types of magic that helped me make this new world amongst other things, and, more importantly… just how wrong Heaven is.”

“So you made this place as your Plan B?”

“Like I said in the note: created for the day I needed to escape. Or, as it turned out, the day _you_ needed to escape.”

“Right, I get that. That bit makes sense, I guess,” Gilbert replied. “But what _doesn’t_ make sense is that you were going to let yourself die for me.”

“I thought we were going to wait a few minutes—”

“No. This is a right-here-right-now issue,” the other stated.

It wasn’t said with too tough a tone; it wasn’t angry, it wasn’t disappointed. It was concerned. _He_ was concerned. Gilbert came to Antonio’s side and crouched down by his side. He took the other’s hands in his and met his gaze ( _why does he look so sad?_ ), trying to muster up a small smile that would encourage the other to open up to him. So many years in each other’s company, it should have been easy, right? Talking? So many years by each other’s side…

“I just need to know why you think that was an okay thing to do,” Gilbert told him. “Because you said you saved me because you couldn’t bear to live without me. So what made you think I could do the same?”

A dry laugh passed the other’s lips. “I wasn’t going to worry about the next step,” he said, shaking his head—though his whole body almost seemed to be shaking. Maybe they should hold off this conversation… Gilbert was scared Antonio might keel over. “You were my priority. I didn’t care what happened to me, so long as you were okay…”

“You… You just…” 

Gilbert stopped and huffed and couldn’t help himself—he pulled Antonio down into a hug, a warm embrace that would hopefully settle them both. Antonio certainly looked like he needed it. And it quickly became clear that he _did_ need it, based on how tight he was holding onto the paler angel. Gilbert let him hold on as tight as he needed. He gently rubbed his back, just in that space between where the humeruses fused into skin and shoulder blades, and felt as all the tension slowly seeped out of the other’s body.

Antonio didn’t cry. He just relaxed. Like the weight of the world was no longer on his shoulders, and he could rest, knowing they were safe. That Gilbert was alive.

“You,” Gilbert said, picking back up from where he had failed before, “are the most ridiculously selfless idiot I know.”

Antonio hummed against the other’s shoulder (Gilbert had a feeling it may have been a laugh, if he wasn’t still hugging the brunette). And then he lifted his head to rest it on the shoulder, mumbling a quiet: “I save your life, and _I’m_ the idiot?”

Gilbert was the one to laugh in the end. “You were the idiot who nearly got killed in the first place. I mean, why _did_ he try to kill you? Seemed a bit extreme to me.”

“Now _that_ is a story for another time…”

“Aww, but I like story time!”

“Not right now. Please,” Antonio responded. His voice softened again and he pushed his face back into Gilbert’s shoulder. _Touched a nerve_ , Gilbert told himself. 

“Alright,” he conceded, going back to rubbing the other’s back again. “So, what… What do we do now? You somehow made a whole world after reading a few books, which the other angels can’t get to now… So what are we going to do?”

“We… We are going to make something of it,” Antonio said to him firmly. “We are going to make this place into something… Wonderful. _Ours_.” He pulled back from Gilbert and locked eyes with him. Sadness was replaced by a sort of determination, and perhaps, a little bit of venom. “Heaven is not for us—not any more. So we make our own home—our own kingdom—and we live. That’s all I want. I just want us to make a home for ourselves, and _live_.”

“Then that,” Gilbert assured him with a smile, and a gentle kiss pressed to the other’s forehead, “is exactly what we’ll do.”

It was a promise that Gilbert and Antonio held, and they held it for a very long time.

After that day, a lot changed, most notably in the world around them. They created their kingdom, their palace, the citizens that would fill it—daemons, Gilbert had eventually settled on calling them—and their own laws to keep the order. They were happier. They were brought so much closer together. They loved, they thrived, and they did indeed live.

And while their world grew and changed and transformed, so did they. They separated themselves from Heaven, changing things from their wings—with darker feathers, grey, black and brown—to the colour of their eyes (well, Gilbert hadn't needed to change that bit, but Antonio had insisted they match; if Heaven had wanted to ostracise Gilbert for having red eyes, then Antonio would make him feel like less of an outsider). They created an image for themselves that stuck. That made them recognisable. Nothing 'angel' about them remained. They were now their own kind, and they relished in it.

Further on down the line, others came and joined them—others from Heaven who had found the same flaws that Antonio and Gilbert had. Amongst them were some of the angels that they had known before their Fall. But indiscriminately, they provided them with a sanctuary to flee to, so that they could also thrive and live, free from unfair judgement, on the condition that they also change themselves, renounce anything angelic about them, and play nice. The arrangement was never questioned or challenged. They actually had _peace_.

At some point, Heaven itself then came to make an agreement with this realm, which they had come to dub ‘Hell’. Hell became in charge of justice for human souls, deciding who got punished for what and how. Communication opened. Hell’s leaders were even invited every now and then to go to Heaven to speak with the archangels. It was during such a visit that Antonio and Gilbert found out that Heaven had already told its tales of the two angels who had fallen, twisting words and truths. They only called them Samael and Lucifer respectively. Their old identities had been completely erased.

But neither of them paid it any mind—they knew the truth, and they were never going to give Heaven the satisfaction of having the last laugh.

So, Lucifer and Samael, Gilbert and Antonio, ruled Hell with pride. They ruled with fairness and equality. They ruled with longevity. And most importantly, they did it all with each other, side by side, hand in hand.

And they could only hope that that would never change.

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this on impulse after I found sudden inspiration late last night. Do I love this? Yes and no. It might need a neaten up at some point, but I kind of like this twist on the Fall and Hell. So... it's staying for the minute. The pacing feels a bit whack, but eh. End goals.
> 
> I'm tempted to develop this idea at some point and maybe write other one-shots that fit the same universe. Let me know if that's a good idea? I don't know, I just... I have an addiction. To PruSpa. And this happened. You're welcome. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this anywho, and I'll see you around :'3


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